


White Tile Walls

by oregun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, alone time, his mother is featured as well but, his sisters hey, the boys are mentioned ? not really specified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oregun/pseuds/oregun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>maybe silent afternoons in the bus arent so good after all</p><p>alternatively known as louis does not like what his mind does when there is nothing to distract him</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Tile Walls

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this as i was having an anxiety attack and edited while bored during the summer  
> perhaps the most reflective piece of myself ever unintentionally written  
> um not really anything specific though. not very interesting and very short

Sometimes the bus gets achingly quiet when it has been a long ride to another city they only remember the name of because they need to correctly tell them that the city's amazing, like every other concert.

Sometimes the only sound anyone really wants to hear is the tires of the bus crunching on the road, and the soft caress of the wind on the little windows peppered along the length. 

At these moments, the boys performing later, or the next day, and probably the day after that, lie in their own places in the bus, delving into the thoughts usually submerged under a shield of noise so often drowning out anything edging towards genuine opinions and worries.

Perhaps the morose atmosphere of the boys, who had become old enough to be classified as men, was pernicious to them, but more so was the quiet so needed among each other.

Frequently did their ideas and anxieties get dismissed in their lives as they were hurried from destination to destination, told what to avoid speaking about and what to make sure to brandish.

A time to think was a time to cherish.

The boy sitting with his head nestled in between his knees on the cold tile of the small restroom could attest to said cherishing, but when confronted, most likely deny such.

But only he could feel the grasp of his family pulling on his insides. The further away from home; the longer he went without his mother’s voice ringing in his ears like soft piano, soothing and lovely.

His family’s hand was ripping out the things that bound him together.

Every time he visited, his little sisters were a little taller, a little prettier and a little more distant.

His mother would ask him about his travels. He would say they were amazing, but not quite as fun when he felt to be a marionette, dancing and singing when told. It would do little to inform her of the invisible strings, as she would only worry alone after his sisters had gone to bed and the only sound was an occasional sip of tea and steady breathing.

He would habitually ask how things were going when he was gone.

Maybe one sister had gotten her first 100% on a test he wasn’t there to give his congrats for.

Maybe one sister had been getting attention from boys he wasn’t around to intimidate.

Maybe two sisters were trying to branch away from the matching outfits and leaning toward different things, and becoming different people that he wasn’t able to get to know.

Maybe they didn’t know him anymore. He was the person who was at a loss of what he wanted to do with himself, yet enjoyed living and taking part of dozens of things.

He idly wondered who he was, currently. Was he the same outgoing person as before? Or did he feel an obligation to make everyone else look past their own troubles and focus on the moment?

Quite possibly, he was a mixture of both of the men in his head: one with straightened hair and rolled up pants and a blinding smile, and one with dark bags under his eyes and bitten nails who would only drink tea because it was instinct; The one that would robotically brew cups, if only to keep his hands warm whilst looking out the windows to watch the outside blur by in fields of green.

Inwardly, he doubted he was the person he knew he was. 

He was the kind of person to get told he wasn’t vital, or that he was a good team player.

Naturally, he was no longer the starring role when among the other four boys. 

He could say he tried, though; tried not to get too flustered when the other boys would sing like they did when he first met them, all loud and proud yet reserved and humble nonetheless. His previous bravado that accompanied his lead performance in Grease soon demoted itself to a lesser peg of confidence, burying itself deep into his chest, protected with the thick layers of newfound insecurities.

How he would ever go about saying the ego destroying realization was simply out of the question. Never would he even think to say something that would only make the others feel disconsolate about their own talents.

As the bus took a sharp turn, the man (who seemed almost as a boy, sitting with his hands wrapped around his legs and a chronic sniffle echoing in the white tiled crevice of a restroom) jolted upright, rubbing his head.

So often did Louis forget why he would refuse to think about anything other than the feet in front of him. In a fleeting moment, it dawned on him the answer as to why he so cautiously avoided strenuous topics mentally:

If only to protect himself from the drops of water streaming down his cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading  
> special thanks to nikki and robyn  
> love you guys


End file.
